Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927 Purchase this Print 7:52 A.M., May 20, 1927 At 7:52 A.M., May 20, 1927 Charles Lindbergh gunned the engine of the " Spirit of St Louis " and aimed her down the dirt runway of Roosevelt Field, Long Island . Heavily laden with fuel, the plane bounced down the muddy field, gradually became airborne and barely cleared the telephone wires at the field's edge. The crowd of 500 thought they had witnessed a miracle. Thirty-three and one half-hours and 3,500 miles later he landed in Paris, the first to fly the Atlantic alone. Working as a mail pilot a year earlier he heard of the $25,000 prize for the first flight between New York and Paris. Backed by a group of St. Louis businessmen, Lindbergh supervised the building of his special plane and set out after the prize. Other teams were attempting the feat - some had met disaster. Lindbergh equipped himself with four sandwiches, two canteens of water and 451 gallons of gas.

Midway through the flight "sleet began to cling to the plane. That worried me a great deal and I debated whether I should keep on or go back. I decided I must not think any more about going back." On the evening of May 21, he crossed the coast of France, followed the Seine River to Paris and touched down at Le Bourget Field at 10:22P.M. The waiting crowd of 100,000 rushed the plane. "I saw there was danger of killing people with my propeller and I quickly came to a stop." He became an instant hero, "the Lone Eagle." New York City gave him the largest ticker tape parade ever, the president awarded him the Distinguished Flying Cross. His feat electrified the nation and inspired enthusiastic interest in aviation. Takeoff Minnesota Historical Society Photo Bad weather and the prospect that his transatlantic flight would be delayed for a number of days greeted Lindbergh upon his arrival in New York. However, on May 19th, a favorable weather report predicted a break in the rain prompting Lindbergh to make his attempt the next day.

He arrived at the airfield before dawn the next morning, prepared his plane for flight and began his historic journey: "About 7:40 A.M. the motor was started and at 7:52 I took off on the flight for Paris. The field was a little soft due to the rain during the night and the heavily loaded plane gathered speed very slowly. After passing the halfway mark, however, it was apparent that I would be able to clear the obstructions at the end. I passed over a tractor by about fifteen feet and a telephone line by about twenty, with a fair reserve of flying speed. I believe that the ship would have taken off from a hard field with at least five hundred pounds more weight. I turned slightly to the right to avoid some high trees on a hill directly ahead, but by the time I had gone a few hundred yards I had sufficient altitude to clear all obstructions and throttled the engine down to 1750 R.P.M.

I took up a compass course at once and soon reached Long Island Sound where the Curtiss Oriole with its photographer, which had been escorting me, turned back." Darkness Lindbergh continued his flight over Cape Cod and Nova Scotia and headed for the open Atlantic as darkness fell: "Darkness set in about 8:15 and a thin, low fog formed over the sea through which the white bergs showed up with surprising clearness. This fog became thicker and increased in height until within two hours I was just skimming the top of storm clouds at about ten thousand feet. Even at this altitude there was a thick haze through which only the stars directly overhead could be seen. There was no moon and it was very dark. The tops of some of the storm clouds were several thousand feet above me and at one time, when I attempted to fly through one of the larger clouds, sleet started to collect on the plane and I was forced to turn around and get back into clear air immediately and then fly around any clouds which I could not get over." Ireland Minnesota Historical Society Photo Lindbergh continued his course, at times skimming only 10 feet above the waves as he tried to find a way around the fog and maintain his course.

The appearance of fishing boats below alerted him that he was nearing land: "The first indication of my approach to the European Coast was a small fishing boat which I first noticed a few miles ahead and slightly to the south of my course. There were several of these fishing boats grouped within a few miles of each other. I flew over the first boat without seeing any signs of life. As I circled over the second, however, a man's face appeared, looking out of the cabin window. I have carried on short conversations with people on the ground by flying low with throttled engine, and shouting a question, and receiving the answer by some signal. When I saw this fisherman I decided to try to get him to point towards land. I had no sooner made the decision than the futility of the effort became apparent. In all likelihood he could not speak English, and even if he could he would undoubtedly be far too astounded to answer. However, I circled again and closing the throttle as the plane passed within a few feet of the boat I shouted, "Which way is Ireland?" Of course the attempt was useless, and I continued on my course. Less than an hour later a rugged and semi-mountainous coastline appeared to the northeast.

I was flying less than two hundred feet from the water when I sighted it. The shore was fairly distinct and not over ten or fifteen miles away. A light haze coupled with numerous storm areas had prevented my seeing it from a long distance. The coastline came down from the north and curved towards the east. I had very little doubt that it was the southwestern end of Ireland, but in order to make sure I changed my course towards the nearest point of land. I located Cape Valencia and Dingle Bay, then resumed my compass course towards Paris." Landing Minnesota Historical Society Photo Lindbergh flew over Ireland and then England at an altitude of about 1500 feet as he headed towards France. The weather cleared and flying conditions became almost perfect. The coast of France and the City of Cherbourg passed beneath his wings as darkness fell a second time during his flight. "The sun went down shortly after passing Cherbourg and soon the beacons along the Paris-London airway became visible. I first saw the lights of Paris a little before 10 P.M., or 5 P.M., New York time, and a few minutes later I was circling the Eiffel Tower at an attitude of about four thousand feet.

The lights of Le Bourget were plainly visible, but appeared to be very close to Paris. I had understood that the field was farther from the city, so continued out to the northeast into the country for four or five miles to make sure that there was not another field farther out which might be Le Bourget. Then I returned and spiralled (sic) down closer to the lights. Presently I could make out long lines of hangars, and the roads appeared to be jammed with cars. I flew low over the field once, then circled around into the wind and landed." But suddenly, a hysterical, ecstatic crowd broke through the restraining ropes and stampeded toward him, cheering and shouting. As he opened the door, he was lifted down and hoisted onto the shoulders of the police, who carried him through the surging crowd, cries of "Vive" ringing through the night. He had conquered the Atlantic alone, covering 3,610 miles in 33 1/2 hours. He had won the Orteig prize! From the balcony of the American Embassy the following morning, he responded briefly and modestly to the persistent calls of the great crowd which had gathered.

For hours after he retreated back inside, they shouted, clapped, and waved their hats and handkerchiefs. In the days that followed, his fame as a hero grew to unbelievable proportions as he took Europe by storm. The President of France pinned the Legion of Honor upon the lapel of his borrowed suit and thousands of messages poured in upon him. It was as if everyone saw in him something that they sought in themselves - a spirit of adventure and achievement in life. Somehow he represented the symbol of hope in a weary world, for there was something unique about his integrity, courage, and indifference to honors. "He had started with no purpose but to arrive. He remained with no desire but to serve. He sought nothing, he was offered all." Returning Home Minnesota Historical Society Photo When he came home to America aboard the USS Memphis, a majestic convoy of warships and aircraft escorted him up the Chesapeake and Potomac to Washington. President Coolidge welcomed him home and bestowed the Distinguished Flying Cross upon him. His New York reception was the wildest in the city's history as 4 million people lined the parade route and Mayor Jimmy Walker pinned New York's Medal of Valor upon him.

Finally, when it was all over, he turned and flew to St. Louis for a rest and to contemplate. His epic flight would become the one singular event which electrified the world and changed the whole course of history. It was now that the Daniel Guggenheim Fund sponsored him on a three month nation-wide tour. Flying the "Spirit of St. Louis," he touched down in 49 states, visited 92 cities, gave 147 speeches, and rode 1,290 miles in parades. Tired, but satisfied with the job he had done in promoting aviation, he returned to New York. He made a good will tour at the request of Ambassador Dwight Morrow. It was here that he first met Anne Morrow , daughter of the Ambassador, a meeting that would blossom into romance. After Mexico, he visited twelve other Central American and West Indies countries, conveying goodwill all along the 9,000 mile flight tour. On March 21,1929, President Coolidge presented him with the nation's highest honor, the Congressional Medal of Honor. Throughout the rest of his life he would continue to serve America as an advisor on aviation.

He resigned his commission as a Colonel in the reserves an April 29, 1941, but he served in the Pacific theater during World War II as a technical advisor. He taught American fighter pilots how to get increased range from their planes - as much as fifty percent more. He flew several combat missions in P-38 fighters and on at least one sortie shot down a Japanese plane. After the war, he continued to serve his country in many ways and on April 7, 1954, he was appointed a Brigadier General in the Air Force Reserves. "Lindbergh Flies the Atlantic, 1927," EyeWitness to History, (1999). Certification of Charles Lindbergh's flight required several documents to prove the performance Orteig Prize check made out to Charles Lindbergh The Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI) - the World Air Sports Federation - is the sole organisation authorized to certify aeronautical and astronautical world records worlwide. The certification of Charles Lindbergh's flight required several documents to prove the performance.

A sealed barograph, an instrument working with atmospheric pressure, was loaded on the aircraft; its six-hour cylinder recorded the altitudes flown and proved that the flight was uninterrupted. The start of the flight was attested by the US National Aeronautic Association and the Procès-verbal established by the Aéro-Club de France on Lindbergh's arrival attested that the barograph was found sealed and reported that 322 litres of gas (85 gallons) remained in the sealed tanks. This Procès-verbal was signed by no less than 13 French officials, the US Ambassador Myron Herrick, the Belgian Air Attaché Willy Coppens and, of course Charles Lindbergh himself. Finally, the FAI General Secretary Paul Tissandier informed the National Aeronautic Association on August 31st, 1927, that Lindbergh's flight was certified as the Class-C World Record for non-stop flight over a distance of 5809 kilometres".

Pictures of the barograph, six-hour cylinder recorded, and certified world record documents Click to Enlarge Source of information: The Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI) Lighting a bonfire I was astonished at the effect my successful landing in France had on the nations of the world. To me, it was like a match lighting a bonfire. – Charles A. Lindbergh Privacy Policy | Terms and Conditions | This site is not affiliated with the Lindbergh family, Lindbergh Foundation, or any other organization or group. This site owned and operated by the Spirit of St. Louis 2 Project. ® Copyright 2014 CharlesLindbergh.com�, All rights reserved. Charles Lindbergh & the First Solo Transatlantic Flight | The Greatest Moments in Flight Charles Lindbergh & the First Solo Transatlantic Flight | The Greatest Moments in Flight By Nola Taylor Redd, Space.com Contributor | July 20, 2012 01:27pm ET MORE The Spirit of St. Louis carried Charles Lindbergh from New York to Paris in 33 and a half hours, the first nonstop flight across the Atlantic Ocean.

Credit: Library of Congress This is part of a series of articles on the Greatest Moments in Flight, the breakthrough events that paved the way for human spaceflight and its next steps: asteroid mining and bases on the moon and Mars. As the Spirit of St. Louis rolled down the dirt runway of Roosevelt Field in New York, many doubted it would successfully cross the Atlantic Ocean. Yet, when Charles Lindbergh landed safely in Paris less than 34 hours later, becoming the first pilot to solo a nonstop transatlantic flight, he changed public opinion on the value of air travel and laid the foundation for the future development of aviation. Preparing for the voyage Born only a year before the Wright brothers made their first historic flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, Charles Lindbergh grew up in the grip of aviation fever. Though he attended college to study engineering, he was drawn to the skies. "The life of an aviator seemed to me ideal. It involved skill. It brought adventure. It made use of the latest developments of science. Mechanical engineers were fettered to factories and drafting boards while pilots have the freedom of wind with the expanse of sky.

There were times in an aeroplane when it seemed I had escaped mortality to look down on earth like a God."— Charles Lindbergh, "We, Pilot & Plane," 1927 Lindbergh left college to become a barnstormer, performing daredevil stunts at fairs. In 1924, Lindbergh enlisted in the Army, training at the U.S. Army flying school, where he graduated first in his class. After graduation, he became a postal pilot, flying the mail from St. Louis to Chicago. In 1919, Raymond Orteig, a hotel owner in New York City, offered a prize of $25,000 to the first pilot to fly nonstop from New York to Paris. By 1927, four men had died, three were seriously injured, and two others went missing in the attempt, but the prize still remained tantalizingly out of reach. Lindbergh convinced nine St. Louis businessmen to finance his attempt, using their funds to build a special plane that he helped to design. Named in honor of his sponsors, the plane was called the Spirit of St. Louis.

The plane's single-engine design caused many to doubt its ability to cross the vast Atlantic. Previous attempts had all included multi-engine planes. Also, co-pilots had been a staple on the 3,500 mile journey, but Lindbergh intended to fly alone. Lindbergh omitted a parachute and a radio from his gear, opting to include more gasoline. The newspapers called him "the flying fool." Alone in the sky On May 20, 1927, at 7:52 a.m., the Spirit of St. Louis accelerated down the runway off Long Island and lifted into the sky while a crowd of 500 watched. The plane barely cleared the telephone wires at the end of the strip. "The field was a little soft due to the rain during the night, and the heavily loaded plane gathered speed very slowly." Lindbergh flew over Cape Cod and Nova Scotia, reaching the ocean as the sun set. Fog thickened in the night sky, and sleet formed on his plane when he attempted to pass through the clouds. He struggled with drowsiness, fighting to stay awake as he sometimes flew only ten feet above the ocean.

A tiny fishing boat provided the first sign that he had reached Europe, and within an hour he had reached land. He flew about 1,500 feet over Ireland and England, headed toward France as the weather cleared. Darkness fell again as he passed over the coast of his target country. "I first saw the lights of Paris a little before 10 p.m., or 5 p.m., New York time, and a few minutes later I was circling the Eiffel Tower at an altitude of about four thousand feet." After traveling more than 3,600 miles in 33 and a half hours, Lindbergh landed safely in Paris. A crowd of 100,000 swarmed around the plane, hoisting the pilot on their shoulders and cheering his achievement. The papers redubbed him the "Lone Eagle" and "Lucky Lindy." After the flight On his return home, Lindbergh toured 92 cities in 49 states, extolling the virtues of aviation to adoring crowds. He received the Medal of Honor and the Distinguished Flying Cross from President Coolidge and continued to serve the United States as an aviation consultant.

He flew to several countries in Latin America at the request of the U.S. government, where he met his future wife, Anne Morrow, daughter of the American ambassador to Mexico. Lindbergh taught his wife to fly, and the two flew together around the world, plotting routes for various airlines. Lindbergh baby kidnapping Tragedy struck in 1932 when the couple's first child was kidnapped from their home. The crime made headlines around the world. The Lindberghs paid the $50,000 ransom but, sadly, the boy's body was found in nearby woods weeks later. A carpenter, Bruno Hauptmann, was arrested and charged with murder. He was found guilty and was executed in 1936. The couple soon left the country in search of greater privacy. They went on to have five other children. America First In 1941, Lindbergh joined the America First Committee, which opposed the U.S.'s entry into World War II. Some people accused him of having Nazi sympathies. After the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, however, Lindbergh became a technical adviser to the Army and Navy.

He flew 50 combat missions and helped develop cruise control techniques that increased the capabilities of American fighter planes. After the war, Lindbergh withdrew from public attention. He was a consultant to the U.S. Air Force, became involved in the conservation movement, and wrote several books, including "The Spirit of St. Louis," which won a Pulitzer Prize in 1954. Lindbergh died of cancer on Aug. 26, 1974, at his home in Hawaii. Related: Charles Lindbergh Biography - First Solo Flight Across the Atlantic Charles Lindbergh Lindbergh's entry in the Hall of Fame of the Air Lindberg airmail stamp issued in 1927. Such was Lindbergh's fame that the Post Office broke its own rule against honoring living persons, although only Lindbergh's plane, not the man himself, was shown. Lindbergh, in one of the many parades in his honor, this one in Hartford, CT. Charles Lindbergh - The Lone Eagle First Man to Fly the Atlantic Solo By Stephen Sherman , Jan. 2001. Updated June 26, 2011.

On May 20-21, 1927 Charles Lindbergh made the first solo, nonstop New York to Paris flight in the Spirit of St. Louis. After the 3,610-mile, 34 hour, flight across the Atlantic, Lindbergh became an international hero, and the most famous man in the world. Today, his airplane, the Spirit of St. Louis, hangs in the atrium of the National Air and Space Museum. After bursting into international fame with his transatlantic flight, Lindbergh remained in the public eye, often the subject of controversy. Retiring in later years to the island of Maui, Hawaii, he died there in 1974. Youth Born on February 4, 1902 , Lindbergh was mechanically inclined from childhood. The son of a Swedish immigrant, Charles August "C.A." Lindbergh, and his second wife, Evangeline Land, young Charles had a rootless and somewhat solitary childhood. For many years he and his mother moved between their primary home in Little Falls, Minnesota, her family's house in Detroit, and Washington, D.C., where his Congressman father spent a most of his time.

His father's house is now a National Historic Landmark. Charles had no siblings his age (two much older half-sisters) and few close friends his own age. He learned to love nature, the outdoors, solitude, and developed a passion for collecting and analyzing things. Barnstormer & Air Mail Pilot Fascinated with aviation, he earned his pilot's license, and in 1923 bought a Jenny to take up barnstorming. In 1924, Lindbergh entered a U.S. Army flying school at San Antonio, Texas. He graduated first in his class the following year, then became the first air mail pilot between Chicago, Illinois, and St, Louis, Missouri. He became the first three-time member of the Caterpillar Club, that exclusive fraternity of people who had saved their lives with parachutes. While he loved flying of any sort, the airmail routine was tedious. He heard of a fine new airplane, the Wright Bellanca, whose engine promised to give it a range of 4,000 miles. He pondered what could be achieved in such a machine.

His Transatlantic Flight In 1919, New York hotel businessman Raymond Orteig had offered a $25,000 prize for the first nonstop flight between New York and Paris. Several attempts had been made to capture the prize, notably by French WWI ace, Rene Fonck, in 1926. The transatlantic challenge became somewhat of a national obsession. Lindbergh convinced a group of St. Louis businessmen to back him in an attempt to win the Orteig prize. They committed $10,000 for his plan. On a tight budget, he went looking for an airplane. At first, Charles Levine, the owner of the Wright Bellanca offered it to him for only $15,000, a great discount from its cost of $25,000. His backers okayed the extra funds. After excitedly traveling to New York to finalize the deal, Lindbergh was dismayed to learn that while Levine would sell him the Bellanca, he insisted on naming the pilot himself. Lindbergh looked for other aircraft. Other manufacturers were unhelpful.

At this time, early 1927, the Orteig challenge was heating up, amidst great publicity. Rene Fonck was rumored to be preparing another attempt in a new Sikorsky biplane. Richard Byrd, of North Pole fame, had an expensive Fokker trimotor for his effort. Levine and Clarence Chamberlin announced they would try it in the Wright Bellanca. Another pair of Americans, Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster, would also enter. The race was on. Spirit of St. Louis A small manufacturer, the Ryan Aeronautical Company of San Diego, agreed to build a plane for Lindbergh, for $6,000 plus the cost of the engine. He went to their small plant in San Diego and supervised the design modifications and the construction his monoplane. Essentially, the Spirit of St. Louis was a custom-built airplane, designed expressly to fly Lindbergh across the Atlantic. A. Scott Berg, in Lindbergh , called it a "two-ton flying gas tank." Lindbergh sacrificed every possible bit of weight for more fuel capacity. No parachute, no radio, no brakes, not even a forward-facing window (a small periscope would do).

Twenty-seven feet long, as the design evolved, the wings grew to forty-five feet, to help lift the 2700 pounds (400+ gallons) of gas. The rest of the airplane, the engine, and its pilot only weighed about 2500 pounds. Powered by a state-of-the-art 223hp Wright Whirlwind J-5C engine, the plane could cruise for 4,200 miles. Ryan employees worked day and night to finish the aircraft in just two months. Its tail identified the aircraft as "N-X-211 RYAN NYP" "N" was the international aeronautical code for the United States. "X" stood for experimental. It was the 211th such licensed plane. "RYAN NYP" abbreviated "Ryan New York - Paris." Check out the NASM Spirit of St. Louis web page. Engine installed, Ryan charged him $10,580. The press (Lindbergh's nemesis for the rest of his life) got word of this new entrant, and began to tell the country about the handsome young man and his bold, solitary plan.

A lone pilot in a single-engine plane allowed little margin for error. In April, as the Spirit neared completion, Noel Davis and Stanton Wooster crashed and died while testing their plane, the American Legion. Commander Byrd's Fokker, America, cracked up and injured three of its crew. Clarence Chamberlin and Levine's Bellanca, named the Columbia, smashed up it landing gear. By May, after short test flights around Southern California, Lindergh and the Spirit of St. Louis were ready. On the 8th came dramatic news, two French aviators, Charles Nungesser (a WW1 ace) and Francois Coli, had taken off from Paris in L'Oiseau Blanc, the White Bird. They were never heard from again. Undeterred, Lindbergh flew to New York. Stopping briefly in St. Louis to re-fuel, he set a new record for the California-to-New York run, flying it in less than 22 hours. Photographers and reporters greeted him on his arrival at Curtiss Field on Long Island. The other competitors had various problems - Levine was held up by lawsuits, Byrd's trimotor needed work. On the 19th, Lindbergh was ready.

They needed to check out the plane thoroughly, which required several short flights around the field. As they finished the preparations for the long flight, reports came in of heavy fog over Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, postponing his take-off. The Flight But on the morning of May 20, 1927, an improved weather forecast suggested no advantage in further delay. They installed and sealed the barograph, and serviced and checked the plane, then Lindbergh took off from Roosevelt Field on Long Island. For food, he brought five sandwiches. "If I get to Paris, I won't need any more. And if I don't get to Paris, I won't need any more, either," Lindbergh noted drily. Fox Movietone captured his Ryan monoplane, loaded with 451 gallons of fuel, struggling and bouncing along the runway, barely clearing the telephone wires at the far end. After clearing St. John's, Newfoundland, the 25-year old aviator was hidden from the world. The world waited, spell-bound for word of Lindbergh. Rumors flew. (My Dad, eight years old at the time, recalled waiting for news of Lindbergh.

His older brother "came stumping into the house and reported that Lindbergh had crashed. My mother broke down and cried. But of course it wasn't so." - SS) Encountering fog and sleet, he was compelled to fly blind part of the way at an altitude of 1500 feet. At times he flew only 10 feet above the waves. Sighting the coast of Ireland, he turned south towards France. He flew over England and the Channel, and sighted the lights of Paris at 10 o'clock. He shortly touched down at Paris' Le Bourget Field, 33 hours and 30 minutes after he left Long Island. He had covered a distance of 3,610 miles. By making the flight, Lindbergh collected Orteig's $25,000 prize. You can read an excellent book devoted to this event, entitled The Flight of the Century: Charles Lindbergh and the Rise of American Aviation The world, and his life, had changed forever. Hundreds of thousands of people met him in Paris. Lionized throughout the city, U.S.

Ambassador Myron Herrick took him in, and even arranged for a tailor to sew him new clothes. His triumphant tour of Europe included meeting the kings of Belgium and Britain. The picture at left shows him during a parade in his honor in Hartford, Connecticut, riding in a car with Governor John Trumbull and Mayor Houghton Bulkley. The U.S. Navy cruiser Memphis returned the hero to America. First to Washington, where President Coolidge received him, and then to New York City and its largest ticker tape parade ever. The U.S. Post Office issued an unprecedented commemorative airmail stamp in his honor. U.S. stamps never feature living persons, and thus only Lindbergh's plane and a map of his route were shown. As part of his backers' agreements, he had given the New York Times exclusive coverage of his story and the rights to his authorized story. Lindbergh was so disgusted with ghost-writer Carlyle MacDonald's corny and inaccurate articles that first appeared, he vowed to control anything ever published in his name. He also realized the importance of careful documentation, and began saving all his correspondence and personal papers.

(This has been a boon to scholars and historians.) Committed to produce a 40,000 word book, he buried himself at Falaise, Harry Guggenheim's Long Island estate, and wrote We in one month. It was well-written, spare and accurate, and became an immediate best-seller. (Check out a lengthy review of We at Amazon.) In December, 1927, he flew the Spirit to Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, and other Cental American countries. In Mexico, he first met Ambassador Dwight Morrow and his daughters. On his return to the U.S., he devoted himself to the development of aviation, helping to start the airline that would become TWA. Was Charles Lindbergh Second to Fly Across Atlantic? Solar Plane Makes Second Attempt to Reach Hawaii But 13 days before he made history, in a gambit that few remember, two former World War I flying aces set off to accomplish a humbler feat: completing a transatlantic flight from continental Europe to North America eight years after a pair of British pilots had made the first transatlantic flight the other way, from Newfoundland to Ireland. The plan was to soar over England and Ireland before gliding into New York Harbor the following day.

To save fuel for the flight, the pilots jettisoned everything nonessential from their wood and cloth biplane, including a lifeboat, parachutes, and a radio. Once the craft was aloft, they even tossed the landing gear. The two pilots were sighted as they crossed the English Channel and flew over Ireland. And then they disappeared. Charles Nungesser and François Coli were never heard from again. Now, Bernard Decré—the founder of the Tour de France a la Voile, an annual yachting race around France—is trying to find the remains of their plane , called L'Oiseau Blanc, or the White Bird, because of its color. Decré, who became interested in the White Bird mystery after reading about it in a book by adventure-novelist-turned-shipwreck-hunter Clive Cussler, announced Wednesday in Washington that he is launching his fifth annual search for the plane. He'll be looking off the southeast coast of the Ile de St. Pierre, a small French territory off the coast of Newfoundland. For years, Decré's small team has been using sonar and a magnetometer to try to locate the plane's engine, likely the only part of it that has survived.

Divers follow up on promising leads. But the search area is large and treacherous, with many other wrecks littering the ocean floor, and the search has not yet been successful. No conclusive evidence points to the two men having reached the other side of the Atlantic, but Decré believes they made it there. One clue: people in Newfoundland, in Maine, and in more southern locations reported finding what looked like aircraft wreckage in the days following the aviators' disappearance. A lobsterman in Portland, Maine, even said he found a large chunk of white wreckage in 1958. From photographs , Decré said, the chunk looks as if it could have come from the White Bird's cockpit, but the pieces found by the lobsterman are now lost. The diary of a fisherman from St. Pierre, meanwhile, reported that on May 9, 1927, he heard loud noises and the sounds of people shouting for help, but couldn't find the source in the fog. Decré has a theory. Speaking at a Wednesday press conference at the French Embassy in Washington, he said he believes the pilots hit a storm coming into Newfoundland.

Running low on fuel, he said, he thinks the pilots "cut the engine for a water landing." But in the dark and the fog, Decré theorized, "the black earth looked like water." Since Nungesser and Coli had jettisoned their landing gear, they needed to make a water landing. For a second year, the aerospace company Safran—which bought the company that built the White Bird's engine and which still makes jet engines as well as rocket engines used by the European Space Agency—is assisting in Decré's search. The company is supplying Decré's team with better sonar and magnetometer equipment, along with its expertise. "I think about the bravery, the audacity of these two men who had faced death before," Safran USA president Peter Lengyel said at the press conference. Safran hopes to recover the engine because it is part of the company's heritage, Lengyel said. But for Decré, finding evidence for an earlier-than-known transatlantic flight would yield a bigger prize: the chance to tweak the history books.

Correction: An earlier version of this story incorrectly stated that Charles Nungesser and François Coli would have been the first pilots to make a nonstop transatlantic flight. A pair of British pilots made such a flight in 1919. Comment on This Story Charles Lindbergh - far from being the first Charles Lindbergh Far from being the first! © Zak Keith, 2010 Who was the first man to fly solo across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly in a single-pilot aircraft across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly a fixed-wing aircraft across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly non-stop across the Atlantic? Who was the first man to fly in a heavier-than-air machine across the Atlantic? Charles Lindbergh was not the first person to fly across the Atlantic — not even close! If you answered “Charles Lindbergh” to any of the above questions, then you, along with millions of people around the world, have been misinformed. It’s not your fault, for this is what our school books still errantly teach us today.

In this “Information Age,” thousands of know-it-all answer sites, such as answers.com , perpetuate (as of May 2010) the Lindbergh myth, parroting the usual misinformation sans scrutiny, citing Charles A. Lindbergh as “born 4 February 1902 in Detroit, Michigan,” and “the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic.” The fact is, Lindbergh wasn’t the first, nor the second, nor the third, nor anywhere close to the top ten. Some 80 people had made the trip before Lindbergh came along. Neither was Lindbergh the first to fly non-stop across the Atlantic, nor the first to use a fixed-wing aircraft (as opposed to a floating airship) for the purpose. Many spectacular firsts in the world of aviation—including many transatlantic flights—happened way before Lindbergh even came into the picture in 1927: Numerous textbooks continue to hail Charles Lindbergh an American Hero, errantly citing him as the first person to fly across the Atlantic!

The very first transatlantic flight took place in 1919 (Lindbergh had absolutely nothing to do with it), when Lieutenant Commander Albert C. Read flew the Lame Duck, a Navy Curtiss NC-4 single-pilot flying boat for this purpose. After several engine breakdowns and floating at sea, he made it from New York, USA, to Lisbon, Portugal. The very first nonstop transatlantic flight (1,890 miles) in a fixed-wing aircraft, was accomplished only 3 weeks later, in 1919, by Cpt. John Alcock and Lt. Arthur Brown, who flew from Newfoundland to England in a Vickers Night Bomber. (Lindbergh still had absolutely nothing to do with it.)[ 5-6 ] In 1924, Lt. Lowell H. Smith and Lt. Erik H. Nelson took off on a journey of 26,100 miles on a round-the-world trip beginning and ending in Seattle, Washington. In 1926, Ramon Franco flew across the South Atlantic in a twin-engine flying boat from Spain to Buenos Aires, Argentina.

He was hailed as the “Columbus of the Air” in Latin America but received little notice in North America. From 1919 to 1927, an additional 78 people successfully flew across the Atlantic before Lindbergh’s attempt—a total of 81 people successfully flew across the Atlantic before Lindbergh. Finally, on June 27, 1927—8 years after the first transatlantic flights, and after 81 other people had already flown across the Atlantic, some of them solo—Lindbergh made his famed Atlantic crossing. Flying the Spirit of St. Louis for 3,600 miles in 33 hours, he went from Long Island, New York, to Le Bourget, close to Paris, France. A closer look at the man, myth and legend So what did Charles Lindbergh really accomplish then, that could be considered a “first?” “Our civilization depends on a Western wall of race and arms which can hold back...

the infiltration of inferior blood.” — Charles Lindbergh Besides being an Aryanist[ 1 ], Nazi sympathizer[ 2 ] and bigamist[ 3 ], Lindbergh was the first person to fly between New York and Paris without a support team and/or companion aircraft (which still does not mean he was the first to fly as a solo pilot or the first to fly across the Atlantic). Lindbergh was the winner of the highly-publicized $25,000 Orteig Prize offered by the French-born New York hotelier Raymond Orteig (Lafayette Hotel), who designated the prize for the first person to fly nonstop in either direction, between the cities of New York and Paris (although many a successful transatlantic flight had already been made by others by this time). “Their greatest danger to this country lies in [Jewish] large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.” —Charles Lindbergh Lindbergh was the first to have the progress of his transatlantic flight covered live by public-access radio. Scores of listeners in France had been glued to their radio sets following developments of his trip, and had rushed out to meet him when he landed.

Due to the unexpected effect of this mass-media coverage and spontaneous public interest, Lindbergh entered popular culture, a.k.a. the collective consciousness of mankind, to be known — incorrectly — as the “first man to cross the Atlantic in a plane.” Through the years, this myth came to be accepted as a “fact” that was taught in history books across the world, which is a pure testament to the power of mass media to misinform and create myths. “Racial strength is vital.” —Charles Lindbergh It would be more accurate to hail Lindbergh as the World’s First Mass-media Hero — he was well aware of its power and manipulated it thoroughly to his advantage. At first a shy man in public, Lindbergh learned quickly to adapt, to play up to the public and perpetuate the egregious falsehood of his achievements. He never corrected the exaggeration about his being the “first,” but chose instead to capitalize on his fame, and to ride on the generated publicity and utilize it to his full advantage. Lindbergh relentlessly used his misdirected fame to help promote the rapid development of US commercial aviation, as well as propagate racial supremacist ideology.

“In promoting appeasement and military unpreparedness, Lindbergh damaged his country to a greater degree than any other private citizen in modern times. That he meant well makes no difference.” —William O’Neill, Historian By 1936, the formerly shy Lindbergh had become a seasoned celebrity, public speaker and political meddler. He visited Germany as an unofficial ambassador of the US, attending the Summer Olympic Games as a guest of Field Marshal Hermann Göring . In 1938, Göring, on behalf of the Fuehrer, presented Lindbergh the Service Cross of the German Eagle for his contributions to aviation, which Lindbergh wore proudly for many years, despite protests from an appalled American public. Taken in by all things German, including Nazism, Lindbergh made plans to relocate to Germany and began using his international fame as a platform to preach American isolationism, the futility of resisting Axis aggression and the ineluctable German conquest of Europe. Lindbergh often echoed word for word, the speeches and writings of Hitler and other European fascists.

He took it upon himself to deliver a nationwide radio address, in which he criticized President Roosevelt and urged America to remain neutral: “These wars in Europe are not wars in which our civilization is defending itself against some Asiatic intruder... This is not a question of banding together to defend the white race against foreign invasion.” In his second radio address in October 1939, Lindbergh stated clearly his belief in the importance of racial supremacy over the “luxury” of democracy: “Our bond with Europe is a bond of race, and not of political ideology.” While Lindbergh did not have anything against the Germans taking over Europe, he was against the “Asiatic intruder” and the “danger to western civilization” from the invasion of lesser breeds, and the “pressing sea of Yellow, Black and Brown” who were “incapable of technological progress.” He considered the Soviet Union‘s “semi-Asiatic hordes,” to be the best organized and best armed, and the greatest danger to white civilization, and Nazi Germany as the answer to this threat.

In a self-published article in the Reader’s Digest, Lindbergh stated his concerns for the future of the white race: “Our civilization depends on a Western wall of race and arms [to] hold back... the infiltration of inferior blood.” Overconfident in his popularity and the support for his views, Lindbergh began speaking openly against Jews, only to be denounced as an anti-Semite, his own in-laws turning against him. But despite his his tarnished reputation, by 1941, the once-shy Lindbergh had become so adept at using his influence and manipulating the mass media, that he was able to bounce himself right back into the game. When the US entered the war on two fronts against the Germans and Japanese, Lindbergh, ever the avid aviator, was eager to fly combat missions against the Japanese (but not the Germans). However, the slighted President Roosevelt would not allow him to rejoin the military, declaring that, “You can’t have an officer leading men who thinks we’re licked before we start.” Lindbergh proceeded to use his influence to land a job at United Aircraft, run by Henry Ford, who was also known for anti-Semitic views.

Supposedly an observer and civilian consultant to develop aircraft engines, Lindbergh, in actuality, flew more than 50 combat missions in the Pacific Theater . By 1945, when it was clear that both Germany and Japan were losing the war, Lindbergh began to backpedal on his earlier statements, but never going as far as to admit that he had been wrong about anything — certainly not about his Aryanist views. He withdrew from public attention and worked quietly for a few years as a consultant to the chief of staff of the US Air Force. One could easily surmise that during this time-out from public life, Lindbergh, who was by now no novice to using the power of the media to his advantage, must have figured that the best way to undo his damaged reputation would be to once again play up his exploits as the Great Aviator and tout his dubious achievements of being The First. In 1953, after 25 years of coasting on his popularity with a misinformed public about his being the “first” to fly cross the Atlantic, Lindbergh published a self-promoting autobiographical work, The Spirit of St.

Louis, which won him the Pulitzer Prize (credit where credit is due, it was actually some good writing). In a two-part narrative “about flying and an aviator’s life in the beginning of the 20th century,” Lindbergh detailed the planning and execution of “the first nonstop flight between the continents of North America and Europe.” Interestingly, the book was 14 years in the making before its release, and numerous revisions were made to the manuscript afterwards, in many places. By 1954, Lindbergh had re-emerged with a Pulitzer Prize in hand, and his untruthful and undeserved reputation of being the “first” and therefore “best” had been restored; his controversial racist and political views were now suddenly overlooked and forgotten, displaced by his comeback fame. President Dwight D. Eisenhower matched the new turn in public opinion by restoring Lindbergh’s commission and appointing him a Brigadier General in the Air Force. PanAm eventually hired Lindbergh as a consultant and he helped to design the Boeing 747 jet for them. In his later years, Lindbergh became interested in global environmental problems and traveled extensively to promote these causes.

He emphasized his love of both technology and nature, and a lifelong belief that “all the achievements of mankind have value only to the extent that they preserve and improve the quality of life.” In a 1967 Life magazine article, he said, “The human future depends on our ability to combine the knowledge of science with the wisdom of wildness.” (To those of you who believe that such benevolent thoughts of humankind’s harmony with nature could not possibly originate from anyone with a mean bone in their body, much less an ardent racist, please bear in mind that Hitler was a vegetarian who preferred the company of animals to people.) Lindbergh is also known for the tragic kidnapping and murder of his infant son, Charles Augustus Lindbergh Jr., in 1932, which came to be known as the “Crime of the Century.” The resultant trial generated so much media interest it was called the “biggest story since the Resurrection.”[ 4 ] (see The Lindbergh Kidnapping on Wikipedia).

Among his lesser claims to fame, Lindbergh is supposed to have been the “first” to come up with the idea of an artificial heart, and had approached French surgeon Alexis Carrel with a design in the early 1930’s. But among other laughable and dubious claims repeated across the Internet, is one of Lindbergh “inventing” space travel. That would be equivalent to “Al Gore invented the Internet” (although he never actually claimed that, by the way). If Lindbergh, who died in 1974, was such an eager achiever and perfectionist, the question that begs to be asked is: why didn’t he just tell the truth, that he was never the first person to fly across the Atlantic? The answer may be that he was simply a man who lived a lie. That would be plausible, considering not only his double-speak about where his true loyalties lay in WWII, but the fact that he had numerous secret love affairs and even maintained a secret second and third family, which resulted in seven illegitimate children. In 2003, DNA tests on three German siblings confirmed that the famed aviator was their father.

David and Dyrk Hesshaimer, and Astrid Bouteuil, who requested the tests, said that Lindbergh had carried out an affair with their mother, Brigitte Hesshaimer, from 1957 until his death in 1974. It was later revealed that Lindbergh also had four other children in Europe: Two by Hesshaimer’s sister Marietta, and another two by his personal secretary, Veleska.[ 7 ] Lindbergh’s rewriting of history has been so succesful that, despite these posthumous revelations, he will probably continue to be hailed a hero in history books for generations to come. To me however, he is no hero, just a great achiever, but the kind who died never doing the right thing. Was Lindbergh a Nazi? — Lindbergh accepted honors from the Nazi government in 1938. In 1941, he advocated noninterventionist policies against Axis aggression, using as his platform the America First Committee (an American isolationist organization). He further used his fame to spread this message internationally, preaching the futility of resisting German advances politically and militarily.

His writings are replete with references to anti-Semitism, Aryanism and the racial superiority of whites. He said, “Racial strength is vital—politics, a luxury.” Many of his statements echoed Hitler word for word, blaming the Jews for stirring up conflict. Charles Lindbergh - From New York to Paris 1927 - YouTube Charles Lindbergh - From New York to Paris 1927 Want to watch this again later? Sign in to add this video to a playlist. Need to report the video? Sign in to report inappropriate content. The interactive transcript could not be loaded. Loading... Rating is available when the video has been rented. This feature is not available right now. Please try again later. Published on May 21, 2012 Charles Lindbergh's solo flight across the Atlantic on May 20-21, 1927 is seen as one of the most important events of the 20th century, but memories have dimmed and, in an age when jet airplanes routinely cross the Atlantic Ocean with hundreds of passengers, we have lost sight of its significance.

Accompanied by film footage of Lindbergh's flight, Professor Emerita Janet Lieberman of La Guardia Community College/CUNY gives her childhood recollections of the event and a Brooklyn parade celebrating Lindbergh, which she attended with her family. The magnificent Brooklyn parade took place on June 16, its 22-mile route crowded with 700,000 school children and their parents. Lindbergh was a little-known air mail pilot based in St. Louis in early January 1927, when he heard about a $25,000 prize being offered to the first non-stop flight between New York and Paris. Lindbergh's historic flight earned him this prize and the adulation of the nation. Radio and newsreel film, new media of the age, spread news of his feat in ways unimaginable only ten years earlier. The 1920s was a decade of ballyhoo and heroes, and the Lone Eagle's transatlantic flight made him the quintessential hero of the era. His momentous feat also became the catalyst for the growth and preeminence of the American aviation industry, overtaking its European rivals.

This is only one piece of the Lindbergh story. To learn more about Lindbergh, including the kidnapping of his son, his associations with Nazi Germany, and support of American isolationism, see the excellent biography "The Flight of the Century: Charles Lindbergh & the Rise of American Aviation" by CUNY Distinguished Professor Thomas Kessner. Produced by La Guardia and Wagner Archives/CUNY Copyright 2012 CUNY - The City University of New York Royalty free music licensed by Category Charles Lindbergh: 1927 - Person of the Year: A Photo History - TIME Person of the Year: A Photo History AP Charles Lindbergh was TIME's first Man of the Year in 1927 Lindbergh was TIME's first Man of the Year, for making the first solo nonstop flight across the Atlantic Ocean on May 2021, 1927. For that 33 1/2-hour flight, Lindbergh was honored with awards, medals and parades throughout the world. But this intensely private man was never quite comfortable with the idolization thrust upon him, and did not conform to the image of hero the public sought.

Perhaps there was a hint of this in TIME's list of his characteristics: "Modesty, taciturnity, diffidence (women make him blush), singleness of purpose, courage, occasional curtness, phlegm." Although he found great happiness with his wife, Anne Spencer Morrow, whom he married in 1929, tragedy brought on by fame shattered their lives when their infant son, the first of their six children, was kidnapped and murdered in 1932. In his final years, Lindbergh developed a great interest in environmental causes. "If I had to choose," he said, "I would rather have birds than airplanes." Researched by Joan Levinstein, the Time Inc. Research Center

Question: In which year did Charles Lindbergh make the first solo flight across the Atlantic?
Answer: 1927